


When the Night Fades Away

by monicawoe, quickreaver



Series: Pattern Recognition [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angelic Possession, Animal Transformation, Demon Blood Addiction, Demonic Possession, Gen, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sam Winchester’s Demonic Powers, Someone Helps Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicawoe/pseuds/monicawoe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/pseuds/quickreaver
Summary: Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them.





	When the Night Fades Away

**Author's Note:**

> Final fic in the [Pattern Recognition series](https://monicawoe.livejournal.com/tag/pattern%20recognition), a _Supernatural/Hannibal fusion ‘verse_. Can be read as a standalone. Set in season 5 of Supernatural. Splits from canon after 5x03 - Sam doesn’t reunite with Dean but instead finds a friend in Will Graham, who has escaped wrongful imprisonment. Lucifer has taken Hannibal as a vessel, and Will and Sam are in hiding. Sam struggles with his ongoing demon-blood addiction and Will, when under duress, transforms into a raven-stag.
> 
>  
> 
> _Big thanks to my beta[WetSammyWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester) !_

  


Will was growing restless. The months of shared solitude were starting to get to him. It was better—infinitely better—sharing his exile with Sam, but he still hated being stuck.

It was strange. For so long, he’d dreamt of this kind of place. His old house back in Wolf Trap had been a step in this direction—far enough away that he could almost pretend he had no neighbors, that it was just him and the dogs. God, he missed his dogs.

This cabin really _didn’t_ have any neighbors, it was a forgotten shack in the middle of the woods that they’d made mostly habitable. But they had no other choice. The police were looking for him, probably the feds too—especially the ones that had been his friends, once upon a time. Frustrated with himself as well as the situation, Will turned on the television again.

_“...the thirteenth incident like this in the last two months. Local authorities are still identifying the victims and working to contain the damage. So far the cause of this river of fire remains unknown. Residents in the surrounding areas are advised to evacuate, as the river’s current does not appear to be following any natural—_

The door lock clicked; Sam bumped the door open with his hip, two big paper bags of groceries in his arms.

Will scrambled for the remote, hit the mute button, and went to change the channel.

Sam set the bags on the kitchen table, with a little more force than necessary. He started unpacking: sack of potatoes, bananas, a glass jar of tomato sauce that clunked loudly against the wood . “You don’t have to turn it off.”

“I know, I was just—“

“It’s on every channel, every newspaper. The Inquirer had a picture of him in a dark-red suit with matching shoes.”

Hannibal would never wear something that tacky, Will thought. Maybe that was evidence of exactly who was in control.

“They say he’s been seen near the epicenter of the last five earthquakes,” Sam kept going, “The Times had the headline: Rivers of Blood - another sign of global warming, or an elaborate hoax?” Sam scoffed. “There’s days where it’s really tempting to pick up a phone and call the journalists, tell them what’s actually going on so they’ll stop making shit up.”

Will reflected on that for a bit while he helped Sam put the groceries away. “Maybe we should.”

“Maybe we should what?”

“Call up the Inquirer, or the Post—or one of the local TV stations and just them.”

“Tell them what?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

“What’s really going on! That this is—“ Will forced his voice lower, gentler. Sam looked upset enough as it was. “That this really is the end of the world.”

Sam shook his head, kept his eyes on the groceries, unpacking rice, apples and an economy-sized bottle of Ibuprofen. “What’s the point?”

“Think they wouldn’t believe us?”

“Some of them won’t. Most of them will, but it—“ Sam cut himself off, jaw flexing as he took a forced slow breath,”—it won’t matter, because if we don’t figure out a way to stop this, they’ll all be dead soon either way. Doesn’t matter if they believe.”

Will’s pulse crawled up his throat, weeks of cabin fever finally spilling out as anger. “We’re not going to figure out anything if we keep—hiding.” He said the last word a bit too emphatically, more of a growl than he’d intended. His knuckles cracked, and quills began to prick at the inside of his skin. He waited a beat, and swallowed the rage back down, adding, “It’s not going to stop on its own.”

Sam turned on him, his own, barely-tamped anger twisting his mouth. “No, it won’t. But if I go out there again- if I stop hiding, let _him_ find me—“ Sam cut himself off, grinding his teeth, but Will saw the fear in his eyes.

“I know,” he said, hands up.

“No, you don’t!” Sam snapped. “Hannibal’s his vessel, and you’ve seen what they’re capable of. But if he gets to me, if he possesses me, it’ll be a thousand times worse.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Will asked.

Sam let out a bitter huff, turned away from Will, leaning against the window. “Because he told me.” Sam’s voice quivered with choked back sorrow. “He talks to me in my dreams. Shows me what he’s doing, and what we could do together. Not rivers of fire, oceans. Earthquakes that span whole continents. Hundreds of thousands dead with a snap of his fingers.”

Will swallowed, and put his hand on Sam’s back, tentatively at first, before stepping in closer and sliding his arm around Sam’s waist. He opened his mouth to say something—anything, but the red-rimmed glassiness of Sam’s eyes chased away the words. Instead he pushed into the crook of Sam’s arm, and leaned against him, willing his body warmth to offer some modicum of comfort.

With another, softer exhale, Sam pulled him in close, and rested his cheek against the top of Will’s head, pressing a half-kiss against his hair. They stayed there, for a precious minute, long enough for Will to clear his mind of everything but the soothing thrum of Sam’s heart beating against his own. He imagined them pumping as one, a solid rhythm united against the chaos of the world outside. The beastly part of Will receded, falling back into a deep slumber inside his cells as his body and mind relaxed.

#

They ate dinner in companionable silence. The food was cheap and uncomplicated, pasta primavera, but somehow, meals with Sam felt far more satisfying than Hannibal’s fanciest seven-course affair. And considerably safer.

“You’re right.” Sam said, setting his fork down.

“I am?” Will swallowed his last forkful. “About what part? That fresh garlic makes all the difference?”

“That too.” Sam cleared his throat. “I haven’t just been hiding you, I’ve been hiding.”

“You had a better reason than most.”

“Maybe, but it’s still my job to try to stop it.”

“Our job.”

“No, Will, you’re-“

“I’m as much a part of this as you are.”

“No, you’re not.” Sam’s voice was still quiet, but heavy with self loathing. Will had heard that same vitriol in his own voice enough to recognize the sound of someone who truly hated themselves. “I caused this. All of this—the Apocalypse, Lucifer— is my fault, my doing.”

“You were manipulated, you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve stopped, if I hadn’t been so caught up in my own self-righteousness.“

“That’s not what you are, Sam.”

Sam shook his head.

“You’re a good man, and you’ve got these abilities that are violent and ugly and feel like a curse, but sometimes they save people’s lives.” Will’s voice had started climbing, but he tamped it back down. “I understand something about that.”

With a scoff, Sam broke Will’s gaze. “It’s not the same thing. You don’t drink blood to do what you do.”

“Maybe not. But I wade in it. My mind drowns in blood. And my body turns into a monstrosity that shouldn’t even exist.”

“Will—you’re not the monster here.“

“Fine. Then neither are you.”

Sam looked like he was going to argue, but thought better of it, his jaw flexing instead.

Will stood and began clearing the table. “I might not know as much about what’s going on, but I’m a quick study.” He reached for Sam’s plate, and Sam caught his hand, squeezing his fingers gently.

“You are. That’s what I’m worried about. This stuff it’s—it’s only going to get worse.”

“I assumed it would. No description of the Apocalypse I’m aware of features a lot of bright spots.”

“Even if we figure out how to stop it, we may not make it through.”

“Par for the course with my life,” Will said, smiling ruefully.

Sam’s eyes met Will’s. “This might be our last bright spot. And I guess I...didn’t want it to end.”

Will’s cheeks flushed. The cabin was small, and had barely any insulation, but somehow that hadn’t bothered him. They kept each other warm at night, and this place had been an oasis of peace the last few months, even if he’d never learned to completely ignore the world collapsing around them. “If we do make it out the other end, then we could keep this, come back to it after.”

Sam nodded, kept his glassy eyes downturned. He didn’t believe it anymore than Will himself, but it was a pretty lie, a comforting one. “Right.”

Will set the plates in the sink. “So, now that we’re not on the sidelines anymore...where do we start?”

“With a phone call.”

 

##

 

“Bella, I love you, more than anything, and I have always respected your choices, especially when it comes to your health, but this is your life—“

“Yes. This is my life. And I will not undergo treatment to extend my life if that life is nothing but suffering. I refuse.” Bella’s voice was steady, resolute. “I saw what chemo did to my mother, how she wasted away. In the end, her mind was already gone, and her body was a living corpse, animated by machines. I will not go down that path.”

“There are other paths we could explore—experimental treatments. And—“

“And what? Fly halfway around the world only to learn that I’m still dying?” Bella shook her head, curls falling over her shoulders. “No, Jack. No.”

Jack watched his wife turn her back on him and head to the bed, sitting on the edge, eyes staring firmly out the window.

“I’m tired,” she said. They’d been together long enough that Jack heard the unsaid words along with the spoken: leave me alone, give me space, this conversation is over.

He nodded, realized she couldn’t see him, but left the room without another word, closing the door behind him.

 

#

Bella slid off the bed, drew her knees to her chest, rested her head on them as the tears began to build. She clasped her hands together and began to pray.

She prayed, and somebody answered.

##

Sam ended the call and stared at his phone, the deeply-worn hurt of Bobby’s voice still crisp in his mind.

“What did your friend say?” Will asked.

 _What the hell were you thinking? And your brother’s just as pigheaded as you! Nothing good ever comes of you two going your separate ways._ Sam cleared his throat. “There’s a town in Missouri, where over the course of the last week, people have started dying by the dozens from overconsumption.”

“Huh?”

“People OD-ing on anything they can get their hands on. A bartender who drank down every bottle on his shelves until his bladder ruptured. A fast food cook ate everything in the kitchen, died by sticking his head in the deep fryer to get at the rest of the fries.”

“Is that kind of hunger something demons can do to people?”

“Gluttony maybe, but not on this scale. Bobby thinks it’s Famine, the Horseman.”

Will’s eyebrows crept up. “Do we know how to fight a Horseman of the Apocalypse?

Sam nodded, averting his eyes to keep his pain from showing. “Yeah, my brother and I, we uh—we fought War.”

“And...how did that go?”

Even though months had passed since Blue Earth, Sam could still feel the flush of shame, the hollow fury when he’d realized Dean would never trust him again. But telling Will any of that wouldn’t help. “We won.”

“Okay then,” Will’s expression showed he knew Sam was hiding something, but he’d learned not to pry, and Sam was grateful for that. “What are we waiting for?”

#

Will’s head jerked up at the sound of the car door unlocking. He’d been so engrossed in the book Sam had given him that he’d only been partially aware of Sam leaving in the first place. As Sam climbed back into the driver’s seat, Will tossed him a quick smile and finished scanning the page.

“That’s the best source we have on the Horsemen,” Sam said. “Been the most accurate so far.”

Will cocked an eyebrow. “Did War ride in upon a horse the color of flame?”

“A red Mustang, actually,” Sam said.

“Ah. Modern horses then. Was hoping they’d stick to tradition, make them easier to spot.”

“I doubt we’ll have trouble spotting Famine. These guys they—” Sam paused and pushed his hair back behind his ear. “—they give off an aura, make the air feel heavy.”

Will nodded thoughtfully. “And they cloud minds.”

“They do.” Sam opened the paper bag he was holding and reached inside. “That’s why I got these.”

Right. Sam had pulled over to buy something. “Bracelets?”

“Trackers. They connect to our phones’ GPS system.” Sam held the adjustable band out to Will. “I know it’s weird, especially since you’ve had to wear one before. But they’re effective. This way we can find each other again if things go south.”

“Based on what I’ve been reading, things are certain to go south,” Will said, closing the laptop. He cocked an eyebrow as he took the soft nylon band from Sam, noting, “This seems way more comfortable than the ones they use in correctional facilities.”

Sam threw him a smile. “Well, this one’s designed for animals actually.”

“Even better.” Will slipped the band on over his ankle and tightened it, wondering if it would stay on if he shifted.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen here. I can’t promise that I won’t go completely off the rails, and if I do, it might be better for me to stay far away from you.” Sam toyed with his own band, but finally slid it over his shoe and up to his ankle, fastening it just under the cuff of his jeans.

“We both already tried toughing it out alone,” Will said, folding his arms across his chest. “What we’re about to do here—there’s no scenario where we’re better off apart. You go off the rails, I’ll drag you back on and you’d better do the same.”

Sam met Will’s eyes and gave him a solemn nod. “Deal.”

#

 

The floor of the liquor store was slick with a revolting mix of blood, vomit and everything that had spilled past voracious open mouths and onto the floor. The twelve corpses were all human—one of them still clutching a bottle, even in death. Their bellies were distended, skin tinged blue.

Will held his hand over his nose, trying to block out some of the stench. Sam stood behind him, just outside, giving Will the space he needed.

The scene reassembled itself quickly, broken bottles and shelves and bodies all whole again in Will’s mind. He hit play and watched them all rapidly fall apart: people stumbling in through the door, heading for the fridge in the back at first, downing the contents of everything they could get their hands on.

A dozen bodies were in the store, but those twelve had made quick work of the entire inventory. Two men had died strangling each other, fighting over a bottle. They both had glass shards in their faces, and buried deep in their sliced tongues from licking up what had spilled onto the floor between them. One had asphyxiated on his vomit, still drinking while his body tried desperately to push it all back out.

Will took a breath and looked over his shoulder at Sam, beckoning him in. “This is mass hysteria, an addictive impulse made into a life-or-death need strong enough to override everything else. They all drank themselves to death.” Will walked to the corpse slumped against the rear corner, surrounded by a dozen bottles of whiskey. An AA token lay in the puddle of piss and booze between his legs.

“This is what Famine does.” Sam surveyed the store. The clerk was slumped over the counter, five empty prescription bottles scattered around him.

“How do we track him?”

“Don’t know.” Sam smiled grimly. “Follow the madness?” His head was starting to ache, from the stench of the liquor and everything else, or from the rising panic of what was to come. If Famine could do this to recovered alcoholics, Sam’s chances of making it through clean were even slimmer than he’d thought. He still dreamt about the taste of Ruby’s blood, the gushing warmth running down his throat and the electric charge that came with it, the dormant parts of his mind lighting up and that feeling of indomitability. He took a slow breath through his nose, and followed Will back out of the store.

And then the smell hit him, accosted his senses, overwhelming everything else. Demon blood. Close. Sam’s head snapped up, heart hammering in his chest as he whirled around just in time to block a punch from a black-eyed man. “Winchester,” the demon said. “Boss says he misses you. Both of you.”

Without thought, Sam had him by the throat, pinned against the wall. Crumbs of brick and concrete rained down from where the demon’s head had slammed into it.

“I’m from the welcoming committee,” the demon said, smiling wide. A drop of blood welled up from where he’d bitten his lower lip.

It took every ounce of willpower Sam had to not lunge forward and taste the blood. He let go, pushed himself off the demon and stumbled back, unable to tear his eyes away from that glistening speck of red. He drew the demon-killing blade from its sheath and clutched it tightly. If he used it there’d be more blood, but what choice did he have?

The demon’s eyes flicked down to the blade. “I’m the first of many. It’s our job to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Sam,” Will said, and it wasn’t as much a warning as it was reassurance. Whatever choice Sam made here, Will would back it. That trust made Sam even more determined to make the right call, and so, with every fiber of his being aching to taste blood, Sam stabbed the blade quickly into the demon’s skull, and yanked it back out. Without looking at it, Sam wiped the blade clean on the corpse’s jacket and shoved it back in his sheath.

A high-pitched buzz filled Sam’s ears. The throbbing in his head got worse and he winced as the pulsing ache became lances of pain. He needed demon blood. It was all he could think about.

“Sam? What’s wrong?” Will asked, his voice muffled beneath the pulse of Sam’s own heart, pounding like an echo chamber.

“I’m—I think it’s Famine.”

Will grabbed Sam’s arm, squeezed his fingers until Sam focused on him. “Do we need to call this off?”

“We can’t! We have to—” Sam couldn’t get the rest of the words out. The pain had gotten so intense he had to clench his eyes shut. And then, with shocking clarity, the scent of the corpse’s blood—still sulfur tinged, still demonic—hit his nostrils. If Will hadn’t been holding onto him, he would’ve dropped to his knees, and lunged for its neck.

“We go back to the motel. We regroup. We try again tomorrow. This isn’t giving up, Sam. It’s being smart.”

Sam tried to protest, but he could barely get the words together. He was too far gone, and Will was right. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Will said, leading Sam back out into the parking lot. “And don’t worry, I’ll drive. I know how, in theory.”

 

#

By the time they reached the motel, Sam could barely see straight. The need had grown so all-encompassing, he could hear Will’s pulse too, see his blood pumping through the veins of his slim neck, not what he needed, but close, and he was not going to hurt Will. He had to get away, had to get himself under control.

The car jerked as Will gracelessly stopped it, angled across two parking spaces. He tore the key out of the ignition like he couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, ran to the passenger side and opened the door, pulling Sam to his feet.

Sam followed, eyes closed against the blinding neon of the lights, disgusted at how slippery his hands were when he clutched onto Will like a lifeline. He let himself be led up the stairs, _“Watch the last step, Sam,”_ into their room, wincing at the glare of the overhead.

“I’ll turn on the lamp, hang on,” Will said, and he pulled Sam’s hand gently off his arm, placing it against the wall so he could support himself. Moments later the harsh light went dark and a much softer one took its place, one of the low-wattage bedside lamps.

Will took Sam’s arm again and led him to the bed, but Sam tugged free of his hold. “No. You—you have to lock me up.”

Will looked around the room, incredulous. “Where? In the bathroom? You blew a storm cellar door apart last time you detoxed, how’s a little slab of pressboard going to hold up?”

Sam shook his head. “There’s cuffs in my bag. Chain me to the pipes.”

It took a moment for Will to move, that pressure at his temples growing stronger, the pounding more insistent. But he made it to the bed, grabbed Sam’s duffel bag and dug through it. There were two pairs of handcuffs inside.

Will brought the cuffs over to Sam, set one pair on the edge of the sink, and crouched down next to him. Sam was getting worse, sweat coating his brow in a thin sickly sheen. His skin looked sallow and heat poured off of him.

Gently, Will pushed back Sam’s sleeve, and closed the first cuff around his wrist. He threaded their fingers, squeezing gentle reassurance as he brought Sam’s arm closer to the sink and closed the other cuff around the metal drain pipe.

Sam’s eyes flicked up to the other pair of cuffs, hanging off the edge of the porcelain. “Those won’t fit around my ankle.

“They’re not for you,” Will said, grabbing the second pair. He snapped a cuff closed around his own wrist and sat next to the tub, closing the other cuff around the exposed pipe there.

“What are you doing?” Sam said, squeezing his eyes shut. He was digging his fingertips into his palms—so hard, Will could feel little red half-moons of pain mirrored in his own hands.

“You’re not the only one with—“ Will’s words were cut off by a spike of pain, pushing against his breastbone like the thing inside of him knew he’d trapped them. “—problems.”

Sam looked at him, pupils blown wide. Too wide. The black was bleeding out from its circles, two quickly-growing oil slicks in his eyes. “They’re coming,” he said, and he slammed the back of his head against the wall with a morbid thump.

Will didn’t have to ask who. Sam’s limbs had stopped shaking, his shoulders and arms were clenched, corded muscles straining as he pulled hard against the cuff, like he could snap it off. Maybe he could. The pipe seemed laughably flimsy now, bending and groaning with each tug from Sam.

The door to the main room clicked open, and Sam yanked harder, a low growl slipping from his throat.

And that thing in Will responded in kind, pushing it’s way up, plasma-slick feathers rubbing against his lungs and heart as they expanded and swelled in his chest and pushed their way out. Will heard himself cry out as the door to the bathroom slammed open, and two demons stared back at him. His vision went red, pain boiled through his veins as his limbs lengthened and his back burst open.

 

##

Sam stood, feeling dizzy with the rush of power singing through him. The two demons that had come for them lay dead at his feet, thick gashes on their necks smeared with blood. He’d broken the ply-board wall and the pipe in the bathroom, though he couldn’t clearly remember doing either. But he’d stopped the demons, drank them down and killed them and now Will was—Will was gone.

He remembered he’d planned for this, had a way to find him, but couldn’t at that moment recall what it was. He could barely remember anything except the hot flood of power from the blood he’d just had. It was more than he’d ever had at once, but he was still thirsty. More-so than before.

The stabbing hunger from earlier came back and he staggered towards the motel room door which had been broken off its hinges. There were other demons, only a few miles away. They were too far away for him to smell, but amped up as he was, he could feel them, practically see them in his mind’s eye.

He was supposed to be looking for someone else, someone more important, but he couldn’t remember who, couldn’t think of anything beyond the blood.

#

The night air felt sticky, heavy with unshed rain. Sam ran, without a clear destination, relying fully on his preternaturally amplified senses—he followed first the feel and then the scent of the demons, his returning thirst becoming more pressing the closer he got.

He crossed another road, dotted with abandoned cars, and found himself in a strip of roadside forest, just thick enough that it blocked the streetlights. Another familiar scent was close, an important one. He slowed, when he heard the distinct sound of hooves crunching over dry leaves.

Will.

Sam knew it was him, though Will’s body no longer showed a trace of humanity—he was the size and shape of a stag, with black fur, and a ruff of raven feathers. As Sam watched, Will lowered his head and rammed it forwards, impaling a man on his antlers. The man let out a pained, chuckling noise.

It was only then that Sam noticed the tackiness on his own skin—the blood covering his mouth and chin and hands, the stains that had turned a patch of his charcoal grey shirt black. He should be ashamed, he thought distantly, should try to clean himself up, but he brought his hand towards his mouth, traced his fingers over his lips instead, and as the scent of demon blood grew even stronger, he realized what it was Will had speared.

Will heard him approaching, let out a huff, and turned slowly towards Sam, lifting the impaled body as he raised his head. With another, louder whuff of air, Will jerked his neck in Sam’s direction, and the gored demon came loose, hurtling through the air, landing in a heap at Sam’s feet.

It took every ounce of Sam’s willpower to not fall to his knees and suck at the gushing wounds. He stood his ground instead, watched Will come closer, snout and eyes lowered. Sam held out his hand, reached for the top of Will’s head and stroked him gently between the eyes, fingertips grazing the antlers.

Will stepped in closer, nudged at Sam with his snout. Sam pulled his hand back, fingers dripping with fresh blood and he wanted so badly to—

“Heard you had a pet, Winchester,” the demon said, climbing to his feet. His black eyes gleamed in the night.

Sam whirled to face him.

“You really should’ve house-trained him. Now we’re gonna have to put him down.”

“Stay away from him,” Sam said, rage pounding in his ears.

“I’ll think about it...if you ask nicely.”

“I’m not asking,” Sam said. He reached out with his power, grabbed hold of the demon’s corrupted soul and burnt it to a crisp in one smooth motion. The empty body crumpled to the ground, head landing with a muffled thud on the earth.

Will gave a grunt of approval, and nudged Sam again, more insistently. His antlers brushed against Sam’s cheek and he marveled at how soft they felt.

Using his power had sated Sam’s hunger somewhat, or rather, it had stoked a different need that balanced the aching thirst in his gut. But there was still a demonic presence nearby—growing stronger and closer with every passing second. A whole cluster. Sam’s thoughts warred in his mind, the intensifying need for blood urging him to run towards the hellish mass, while what little was left of his rational mind told him to flee. He was strong, but whatever was headed towards them was stronger, much stronger, and he had to keep Will safe.

But the hunger grew, and Sam knew at that moment with horrifying certainty that he wasn’t strong enough, not the way he needed to be. He was going to give in, and when he did, Will would be left to his own defenses. Sam wouldn’t be able to protect him, and if something happened to him…

His rising panic gave him a flash of clarity. “Will, you have to go,” he said, hoping Will could even understand him in his current state.

The demonic mass was coming closer. Sam could sense them; there were so many—too many—dozens and dozens, and at the speed they were going they’d be here any minute. “Get out of here!” Sam pleaded, shoving at Will’s side. Will staggered, snuffled once, but stood his ground. “Please, Will,” Sam’s voice wavered. “One of us has to make it through this intact. You’re gonna have to pull me back.”

Will took a few steps, like he was considering.

“Go, hide somewhere safe. I’ll find you. I swear.” Sam doubled over as the demons came within full range of his senses. He could feel his eyes shift, his vision coated with a grey haze. “Run!” he shouted.

And then, finally, Will ran, disappearing between the dense trees.

Sam turned back to the highway, expecting a roiling smoky cloud, a disembodied mass of demons racing towards him at inhuman speeds. But instead, there was an oversized, armored black SUV. It stopped ten feet away from him, and the door opened.

The hunger inside him grew to a fevered pitch, and Sam’s eyes locked on the demons stepping out of the car. Two, three, four demons who took positions on either side of the door, standing guard while the SUV extended a lift, lowering a wheelchair to the ground. In the wheelchair sat an old, withered man, with gnarled hands. The roiling mass of demons was trapped inside of the old man, Sam realized with a mix of fascination and physically painful disappointment. Part of him—the part that already given in completely to the hunger—was furious that his feast had been cut down to four. Unless, of course, he could figure out a way to feed on what was inside of the Horseman. Inside of Famine.

He took an unsteady step forward, and Famine’s demons blocked his path, arms raised and ready to fight.

“Stop!” Famine shouted. “Nobody lays a finger on this sweet boy.” He smiled at Sam, yellowed teeth gleaming. “Sam, did you enjoy the snacks I sent you?”

“You sent?” Sam asked, understanding sinking in.

“Don’t worry, you’ll never die from drinking too much. You’re the exception that proves the rule, just like Satan wanted you to be.” Famine smiled and lifted his spindly arms, gesturing at his guards. “So, have at them. Cut their throats.”

And oh, how Sam wanted to. But if he did, he’d be lost for good. He could feel himself on the precipice—riding the crest of a wave with the bottom threatening to give way. If he took this step, if he fed now, deep in Famine’s thrall, then he would become exactly what Lucifer wanted. He’d be nothing but his addiction, nothing but the need for more, and eventually he’d say yes to the Devil just to make the agony stop. So he swallowed down the pooling saliva in his mouth, reached out a hand and grabbed hold of the guards with his power, pulling them all out of their hosts. With the demonic cloud pooled at Sam’s feet, the empty human shells collapsed. Sam took a breath, looked Famine dead in the eyes, and gritted out, “No.”

Famine’s lips curved downwards, in disappointed annoyance. “Then I’ll have them,” He rasped and lifted a clawed hand, funneling the demons up from the ground and into his open mouth.

Sam nearly smiled with relief. He’d hoped Famine would take the bait, and he hoped that his theory was right. He raised his arm again, turning his power on Famine.

“I’m a Horseman, Sam. Your power doesn’t work on me,” the old man said, a drop of spittle on his lips.

“No. But it will work on them.” Sam said, focusing on the demons inside of Famine—the ones he’d just consumed, and the rest of them.

Famine let out a strangled moan, and fought Sam’s will, but Sam pulled harder, using every ounce of his power, dragging the demonic mass out. The resistance was immense, like trying to keep a freight-train from pulling away with little more than a white-knuckled grip. Blood gushed from Sam’s nose, his head felt like it was about to split open. And then Famine cried out, and the roiling cloud of black exploded out of him, the half-digested demonic essence dissipating into the night sky.  
[](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/monicawoe/8710205/173789/173789_original.jpg)

##

“Whatever you are, you’re lying,” Bella said. She’d been arguing with the voice for a good ten minutes now, despite how ludicrous it felt. She knew, logically, that she had to be imagining it—it was just another terrible side-effect of her condition—perhaps she’d grown a brain tumor to go along with the lung cancer. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be. But she’d prayed, and now an angel was talking to her. Madness or divinity or something else entirely.

_“I have no reason to lie. But I understand you need convincing. It’s a perfectly normal, human reaction. Let me prove that I am who I say I am.”_

“Okay, prove it.”

_“Go to the kitchen. Turn on one of your burners.”_

Bella took the stairs down quietly, not wanting to pull Jack into her delusion. She crossed the kitchen tiles to the stove, stood in front of it. She’d insisted on gas burners, preferred the heat over the electric. “Are you going to tell me to stick my hand in the flame?”

_“Yes.”_

Bella gripped the dial of the gas burner and paused. “This is how madness starts,” she muttered to herself as she turned the dial. “With immolation.”

_“Fire cannot touch me, nor you, while you are under my protection.”_

Bella hated that she trusted this voice. But there was something about it—something so true, so absolute, so holy that she listened. She believed. With trembling fingers, she reached out towards the flames, closed her eyes...and felt nothing.

Expecting to see that the flame had died, she opened her eyes, but no, it was still going, her hand was covered in fire. Shocked, she yanked her arm back, stared at the inside of her palm, but her skin wasn’t blistering, wasn’t charred or singed or even hot—it was completely untouched. Astonished, she stuck her hand in again, deep into the flame, and the fire flowed around her fingers as she spread them, parting like a miniature Red Sea. Bella gasped, eyes tearing with relief, shock and joy.

_“Do you believe now?”_

“Yes,” Bella said, voice cracking. Memories came unbidden—of her mother’s hand on her shoulder as they stood in the church pews during mass, and that feeling of elation, hope and certainty that someone was watching over them. “Yes, I believe.”

_“Then what is your answer?”_

“Yes,” she said again, more firmly. And the kitchen filled with an all-encompassing, unearthly light as the archangel Michael entered her.

##

The night air whipped past Will as he ran, hooves flying over road and grass alike. He ran for miles, weaving in and out of trees, thoughts panicked and wild. He knew he had to get away, knew he had to run from something terrible, though he couldn’t remember what.

There was a scent in the air, and another and another, familiar and friendly and something he missed, so ran faster, until his hooves tore up chunks of earth. He broke out of the woods and ran across an open field towards what looked like stables.

As he neared, he heard barking, excited and constant. A pack of dogs ran towards him, ran with him, guiding him inside the empty wooden building. One of the horses inside neighed at his approach, but soon drifted back to sleep like the others.

Will found an unclaimed pile of hay near where the dogs were settling in, and dropped to his knees, exhausted. His limbs shortened and widened, and the antlers retracted back inside of him, folding into his ribs along with the feathery down.

The night air carried another familiar, even more calming scent in through the open doors.

Sam stumbled through the door of the stables, catching himself on the frame. “Will…” he rasped, crossing the hay-strewn floor he dropped to his knees, and the dogs nearest him backed away, retreating to safety behind Will.

“It’s okay,” Will said to Sam, to the dogs. “We’re okay.” There was far too much blood staining Sam’s mouth, chin and shirt. Too much to be his. “You stopped them?”

Sam nodded miserably and leaned into Will, wrapped his arms around him and lowered them both to the ground.

Will hadn’t realized how cold he was until then. Sam’s hands were hot, his body was radiating pure heat, and instinctively, Will turned his back into it, fitting his body inside the hard curves of Sam’s torso. The tackiness on his own back stuck to Sam’s shirt, but he didn’t care, and neither, it seemed, did Sam.

“How’d you find me?”

Sam moved his hand down to Will’s ankle, thumbed the band there.

“Are you...?” Will cut himself off, realizing the pointlessness of asking. Of course, Sam wasn’t okay. He’d had a bad enough time detoxing after one demon, and considering he’d taken on an actual Horseman of the Apocalypse, he’d had to have had more than one body full of blood. A lot more.

“M‘good,” Sam said, though his slurred voice sounded anything but. He wrapped his arm tighter around Will, and pulled his jacket up over Will’s shoulders. His skin felt hot, warming Will in seconds, and that warmth, along with the strong thrumming of Sam’s heartbeat, lulled Will to sleep.

##

 

Jack froze mid-step when he heard someone moving in the kitchen. He’d gone for a glass of water. Bella didn’t usually come downstairs again after getting ready for bed, she hadn’t in months. He rolled back his shoulders, ready to apologize for what he’d said earlier. Anger wouldn’t help either of them. He had to be supportive, no matter how much he disagreed with her choices. With a pleasant smile plastered on his face, he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

And found Bella holding her hand over the stove—over a lit burner. Her hand was in the middle of the flame, burning, and she was just standing there.

“Bella!” he shouted, running in. He grabbed her and tried to pull her away from the stove, but she wouldn’t budge. It was like she was made of steel and rooted in place. Panic rising even higher, he grabbed for her wrist. “Your hand!”

She didn’t move at all for a moment, and then shrugged him off, with a simple twitch of the shoulder, sending him flying back with some kind of unseen force. He landed clumsily on his hip, banged his head against the cabinets beneath the sink. Turning towards him, Bella held up her hand, turning it slowly; there wasn’t a mark on it. Not a single blister. “This hand is fine,” she said, in a voice that was hers but wasn’t—the inflection was all wrong and her expression was even more wrong. There was idle curiosity there, and a hint of amusement, and none of it was Bella.

Jack remembered the demon from a year ago, the feeling of losing control over his body and being a prisoner in his own mind. “Whoever you are, get out of my wife.”

The demon, or whatever it was, laughed, full-throated. “The only one who can tell me to leave is her, and she invited me in.”

“What?” Jack could barely think straight. His chest felt tight, his pulse was racing. “Bella, my darling, tell that thing to get out. Whatever it promised, whatever it offered, it’s lying.”

That struck a nerve. Her face distorted into a sneer and the air around them darkened as the kitchen lights dimmed and began to spark. “I do not lie. I have no reason to.” But just as quickly as that rage had come, it dissipated again, and she said, “Though I owe you no explanation, she feels that you deserve one.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Bella was looking back at him. “Jack,” she said, moving closer to him. She reached out that same, miraculous hand, pulled him to standing and cupped his cheek.

Mouth dry, it took Jack a moment before he could speak again. “Are you—are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m better than fine, Jack. I’m healed. I can feel it.”

Jack’s heart thudded even harder in his chest. “The cancer?”

She nodded, and her smile spread until her cheeks began to dimple. “It’s gone. My lungs are clear. I can breathe again. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Nothing hurts.”

“And this—“ Jack bit back his words. “This being healed you?”

Bella nodded. “Yes. Michael healed me.”

“Michael?” Jack swallowed. Not a demon then, assuming it was telling the truth. “Like the archangel?”

“The very one.” She smiled at him, too serenely, a look he’d never seen in all the years he’d known her. Contentment, yes, and unbridled joy, but this went beyond that turn of her mouth and shine in her eyes. There was something emanating from her, something that felt like galaxies collapsing and being reborn and he’d never been a religious man, but in that moment he believed. And he felt his heart begin to break as he understood the weight of it. “Please don’t hurt her,” he said before he could keep the words from slipping out.

“Don’t worry, Jack. This won’t take long,” she said, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. In a flash of light and an unseen buffeting of wings, she vanished.

##

Will woke to a stranger peering down at him. She was wearing a riding cap—full riding gear, he realized as he sat up.

“Hey there,” she said, smirking. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Will asked, reflexively. Sam stirred beside him, and sat up, sharply alert, muscles tense. Will put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, hoping it would be reassuring. Whoever this was, they weren’t a threat. Will could smell it, hear it in her steady heartbeat. She was perfectly calm.

“Margot Verger. You’re in my stables.” Her smirk grew into a smile. “Looks like you could use a shower.”

“You don’t even know who we are, and you’re inviting us to take showers?” Will asked. It was as much a statement as a question. If she did know who they were, she might turn them both in.

“No clue. But you’re pack. They trust you.” She nodded her heads at the dogs. “And they’re great judges of character.”

Will didn’t tell her they were his dogs but they did a terrible job keeping that fact secret, particularly Winston who thumped his tail happily against Will’s leg the entire walk across the grounds.

#

After giving them both a chance to shower, and sets of clean clothing that fit Will fairly well but were too tight on Sam, Margot had shown them to a smaller dining room, relatively speaking, with fourteen foot high ceilings and window walls that overlooked the sprawling acres of the Verger estate. The sun had just started to rise, casting a warm pink glow across the fields.

“More tea?” Margot asked, eyeing Will’s empty cup. Sam had barely touched his.

“No, thank you, I’m uh…” Will looked up at her, considered whether she’d maybe called the cops on them after all and dismissed it instantly. She hadn’t. Either because she didn’t fear them or because she didn’t want police attention. Both scenarios carried implications. “This isn’t really a typical response to finding strangers on your property.”

“Well, I’m not typical,” she smiled, hints of dimples showing on her cheeks. “Neither are you two.”

Sam’s expression flickered for an instant, from tired but carefully neutral to suspicious. Will knew him well enough at this point to read those tiny little shifts in his eyes and the curves of his mouth. “Why are you helping us?” Will asked.

“Because Margot’s a good person,” another voice said from just outside the kitchen. Alana’s voice, Will realized, his belly tightening. He hadn’t seen Alana since his trial; old shame ran hot up his cheeks, settling in the tips of his ears. He looked down at his empty teacup, avoiding her eyes.

“Will,” she said, coming closer. She stood next to him silently, waiting for him to look up at her before putting her hand gently on his. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay is all relative,” he said.

“True. Who’s your friend?” she asked.

“Sam,” he said, holding out his hand in greeting.

“Alana Bloom.” She shook his hand, and gave him a quick once-over. Her mouth pursed slightly, brow furrowing just for a moment before she chased it away. Will recognized the look. She knew Sam was in pain, but didn’t know why yet. Sooner or later she’d figure it out.

“So, this is the infamous Will Graham,” Margot said, pouring herself a cup. “I heard all about you.”

Will smiled stiffly. “Hopefully there was some good involved.”

“Plenty. And you?” Margot turned her attention to Sam. “What’s your deal?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Aren’t we all?” She raised her chin, nostrils flaring as she scented the air. “You look human, but you smell like something more. When I found you, both of you were covered in blood that wasn't your own."  

Sam ground his teeth, but didn’t answer.

“You’re a hunter.” Margot raised one perfect eyebrow. “I know all about hunters and how they think they’re ridding the world of evil.”

“Maybe we should leave,” Will said.

"Don’t worry," Margot continued. "I have no intention of calling the police. I want to help you, but we need to get something out of the way first." She turned her gaze on Will. "You ran to the stables on all fours, while sporting a spectacular pair of antlers. Alana didn’t mention anything like that when she talked about you."  
  
"It’s...a fairly new condition," Will said.

"Security cameras?" Sam asked.

"Of course. But don't worry, nobody else has seen the footage. I took care of that."

"Margot—" Will chewed on his lip. "Alana—thanks for your help, and for not turning us in. But we really don't want to be a burden. We'll just be on our way."

“Don’t be ridiculous. Where else are you going to find people who really understand?” Margot asked, smiling wide, teeth bared, and growing sharper. She held her hand up, like she was checking her nails, and as she did, they lengthened and sharpened, growing darker and thicker until she had five dagger sharp claws. “I mean really understand.”

Shocked, Will looked from Margot to Alana, who seemed completely unfazed. She knew.

Alana chuckled. “Turns out this world is a lot weirder than I ever thought possible.”

Will scoffed. “You’re telling me.”

“What were you running from?” Margot asked, fully human-looking again.

“A...uh. A Horseman of the Apocalypse,” Will said.

“Famine,” Sam added, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. He’d relaxed minutely, but was still guarded.

“Is that Famine’s class ring?” Will asked, nodding at Sam’s fingers.

Sam flexed his knuckles, and a glint of light caught the polished black stone set in metal. He curved his other hand almost protectively around the ring. “Yeah.”

Will cocked an eyebrow. “Did he give it to you?”

Sam shook his head. “No. I uh—killed him, I think. Or stopped him. I don’t think these guys can actually _be_ killed.”

“By yourself?” Will’s brow furrowed. “The last thing I remember before I changed...there were demons. Did you—“

Sam chewed on his lip before answering, “I had to.”

“I see.” Will rubbed his hands over the knees of his pants. “And...how are you holding up?”

“I think the ring is helping, somehow.” Sam looked at Will with guilt and shame banked behind his hazel eyes. “I can keep it at bay.”

“Huh. Shouldn’t it do the opposite?”

“You’d think so.”

“What happens if you take it off?”

Sam’s jaw twitched. “Nothing good.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Will said, and he nearly sounded convincing.

“Clearly you two could use some help,” Margot said.

“No,” Sam said, “Thank you, but what we're fighting—these aren’t just monsters. They can level cities just by walking through them.”

“If you’re about to tell us it’s not safe for us, don’t bother,” Margot said. “If the world’s in danger of ending, I intend to fight for it.” She took Alana’s Hand and squeezed it affectionately.

“Trust me on this, Will,” Alana said.  “Whatever it is, no matter how bad—how insurmountable it is. Margot can help.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Sam said.

“Then let’s stop it from ending.” Margot said. “Two shapeshifters and—” she gestured at Sam, “I’m not sure what you can do yet, but apparently you kill demons. We can keep the world from ending.”

“I can’t control what I do,” Will said. “It just happens, like an instinct, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well, there’s definitely something we can do about that.” Margot winked at him. “Come on, let’s get to know each other better.”

Will was taken aback for a second but then realized she was right. Whoever she was, she could clearly control her own transformations easily. And more importantly, Alana trusted her. He stood, nodding. “Okay.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said, reaching instinctively for Will’s arm as he passed.

“It’s okay, Sam. Alana is somebody we can trust, and she trusts Margot.” He looked at Sam a moment longer, cupping his shoulder. “Or wait. Will you be okay?”

Sam flinched, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll be fine.” He covered Will’s hand with his own and pulled it off gently, giving it a soft squeeze. “Go.”

Will have him what he hoped was an encouraging smile and trailed after Margot, exiting through the highly arched hallway.

#

They stood there, side by side, listening to the grunting and squealing of the pigs below. Margot had decided a tour of the pens was in order. Will found himself fascinated by their constant movement, the undercurrent of agitation that hung all around them.

Margot slipped off her jacket and hung it on a nearby hook. As she lowered her arm, Will saw a raised pink scar coming down from her shoulder, hidden only partially by her short-sleeved blouse. The scar was wide and jagged, and had the look of torn flesh to it. “Were you attacked?” he asked, before considering how obvious the answer was.

“Yes, but not by a werewolf.” She pulled her sleeve back further showing more of the scar. “My brother was a monster,” Margot said, letting the blouse fall back into place. “Not like us, not a shifter, or a vampire or anything. Just a sadistic piece of human trash.” She nodded down at the pen below them. “He hated the business part of the family business, but he loved the pigs. He loved how they’d turn on each other when pushed, he loved branding them, said their screams sounded like people.” She took a breath and straightened, manicured finger-tips curling over the railing. “Mason used to say that I screamed just like them.”

Will looked at her. She seemed calm and collected, but there was a pain-riddled weight to those words.

“He branded me, he cut me, he—“ she looked away. “He took from me, over and over until I was less than him. Less than a person.”

The herd below them had grown quieter. They were moving towards the back of the pen, snuffling at the air.

“The first time I shifted was after he—” Margot cut herself off, started again. “I was on the floor, where he’d left me, and I couldn’t even get myself to stand up. There was this awful buzzing quiet in my head. Like my eardrums had been blown out. I wasn’t angry anymore or afraid, I couldn’t feel anything. It was like I’d died. And then when I stood up and saw the blood dripping down my legs I felt myself coming back to life.” She held her hand out to Will, and as he watched her fingers lengthened and widened, bones shifting wider apart. Her nails darkened and grew outward, curving into razor-sharp claws. “Reborn.”

Will’s heart sped as he felt his own insides shifting. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and he wiped at it absently, unable to take his eyes off of Margot’s, which had gone the color of cornflowers.

“I didn’t understand what was happening, but the first time I howled, the first time I ran across my land on all fours, the first time I hunted with my teeth instead of on horseback, it felt right, it was like I’d finally found a missing part of myself.”

“What happened to Mason?” Will asked. “Did you...did you hunt him?”

“Yes.” Margot smiled. “I tore out his heart and ate it, and I fed the rest of him to his pigs.”

The bone-deep satisfaction in her voice was so clear it felt like his own. He imagined doing the same to Hannibal, found that no, if anyone tore him apart it would have to be himself, his own hands and teeth. “Show me,” he said. “I need to learn how to control this.”

Margot nodded. “It’s not that complicated. All you have to accept is that what’s inside you is you. Not an _other_ you, not a mindless beast, just you. With all your needs and hungers and none of your fears or hang-ups.” She smiled at him, over-wide and as Will watched, her teeth sharpened, and her jaw changed,  reaching forward, becoming more elongated as her skin began to sprout fur.

Sweating, Will instinctively pushed back the impulse inside of him, realized what he was doing and stopped himself. Pushing it in had done far more harm than good. With a deep, slow exhale he opened his eyes, and let go.

##

Beverly swallowed down the taste of bile at the back of her throat as she opened the next freezer, and the next. Hannibal had three oversized freezers full of meat. Will had been right all along, and the extent of his atrocities was so much greater than they’d thought. If these were only trophies, then the sheer volume of his victims was much, much larger. They’d been wrong, they’d been so wrong.

Only then did Beverly remember to take photos. Evidence, she needed evidence of this horror. Her heart thudded in her chest. If she thought she could get away with it, she’d grab one of the sealed ziploc bags filled with—

“He’s upstairs,” a voice said. A familiar one, but one that felt out of place.

Beverly spun towards the voice, for the moment completely disoriented. It has been jarring enough to discover what Hannibal had done, what he was. What Will had known he was, and the rest of them had been unwilling to see. From the shadows at the other side of the basement, a figure stepped into the light. “Mrs. Crawford?”

“In a few seconds, he’ll open the door. He’ll know someone entered his home and he’ll come down here.”

“Bella?” Beverly repeated, the sense of dread in her gut growing stronger. The woman across from her looked like Bella, but her smile was a stranger’s and her voice had an odd echoing lilt to it, like the distant tolling of bells.

“But don’t be afraid. He will not find you.” Bella’s un-Bella-like smile widened. “You’ll be far away. Delivering a message.”

“A message,” Beverly repeated. “Yes. We have to tell Jack. We have to tell him Will was right, Hannibal is the killer we’ve been looking for. He’s the Ripper.“

“This thing called Hannibal is currently being inhabited by my brother.”

“Your brother?” Beverly’s confusion grew to new heights. Bella didn’t have any siblings, as far as she knew.

“My brother, Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” That sense of dread in her gut made it impossible to laugh off the declaration, no matter how ludicrous. “As in the devil?”

Bella’s smile vanished. “Your name for him, not ours,” she said, voice ice-cold. “He will return here, and when he finds you, he will erase you from existence. Your brief flicker of life will end.”

Beverly felt rigid with fear. She would’ve been angry about it if she wasn’t so full to the brim with terror. “How do I get out?”

As though she herself had no cause for alarm, Bella continued, smiling beatifically. “Tell Sam Winchester that Michael has found a vessel.” She reached her hand out slowly, and Beverly fought the urge to shrink away. Though she still looked like the lovely woman Beverly had known for years, there was something unmistakably different about Bella; something unearthly and immensely powerful. When her fingers brushed gracefully against Beverly’s forehead, they left trails of storms in their wake—storms of purifying vengeance that siphoned her up like an ant into a hurricane, and carried her away.

##

Sam twisted the ring on his finger, turning it a centimeter counterclockwise and clockwise, back and forth; the skin beneath was turning red from the friction. He could still feel his insides churning and that bone-deep ravenous ache, but it was all muted through multiple layers of sound-proof opaque glass. When he pulled the ring up—just over the edge of his knuckle, no further, the layers thinned, and the pain became clearer, stabbing at his gut, fire in his veins.

“If I’d met you a year ago, this would’ve been a much easier diagnosis,” Alana said, disrupting Sam’s swirling thoughts.

The leather creaked under Sam as he shoved the ring back down and shifted in his seat. “How’s that?” he asked, looking up at the psychologist across from him. His eyes were drawn back to the massive bookshelves behind her, twenty shelves high—polished dark pine, with rolling ladders to reach the highest tiers. He’d spent the first few minutes in this room scanning the shelves, trying not to drool so obviously. Margot had obscure long out-of-print volumes on werewolves he’d only seen referenced in other well-known texts, including four framed hand-inked pages from the 1600s, preserved in a climate-controlled display box.

Alana cleared her throat. “A year ago I would have known, without doubt, that everything you’ve told me so far—about you having demon blood, about Lucifer and the end of days—I would have known that you were experiencing a pronounced religious psychosis.”

Sam smiled ruefully. “I wish that were true.”

Alana raised an eyebrow. “You’d prefer psychosis?”

“Of course. If it was all just in my head, then all the people—all the thousands of people—that Lucifer and the Horsemen have killed would still be alive.”

“What they’ve done is your fault?”

“Lucifer is free because of me. The Apocalypse started because of me.”

Alana nodded thoughtfully. “When I first met Margot, her brother was still alive. Mason was a monster. Not the kind with fangs or fur. He was human. But he was the most inhuman, cruel person I’ve ever met.”

Sam couldn’t help but ask, “You've met Hannibal, right?”

Alana smiled bitterly at him. “Hannibal is a monster, but he’s not cruel for cruelty’s sake. Mason was a sadist. In my book, that makes him worse.” Her smile faded completely. "And his favorite person to torment was Margot.” Alana’s eyes had gone hard as steel. “If she hadn’t killed him, I would have.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to Margot, and what the two of you went through, I really am. But why are you telling me this?”

“Because there’s evil in this world, and often, that evil is adept at manipulation. You were manipulated by someone who many believe is the original manipulator. You did what you thought was right, and inadvertently made things worse. That doesn’t make you evil.”

Sam huffed bitterly. “I’ve had demon blood in me since I was a baby.”

“You going to tell me how that’s your fault, too?”

“No, but it means that I’m…” Sam averted his eyes, looking down at the veins in his hands. “I’m tainted.”

Alana cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that’s a load of crap. Our blood doesn’t dictate our actions. If you claim it does then you’re just looking for an excuse.”

Sam let out a slow breath, clasping his hands together, still compelled to keep arguing. “Because of the blood, I have these...powers. And I convinced myself that I could use them for good.”

“Did you?”

“Convince myself?”

“Use them for good?”

“Yeah.” Sam chewed on his lip. “At first, anyway. I saved people. Exorcised demons, without killing the hosts.”

“And that felt good—doing good, saving them?”

Sam nodded.

“That doesn’t sound even remotely evil to me.”

“I had to drink more blood to do it.”

“Demon blood. From the people you saved?”

“No, from one demon. Her body—the one she possessed, the woman it belonged to had already died...there was no other soul in there, just her.”

Alana’s eyebrows crept up, just a hair.

“The angels told me to stop.”

“There are angels, too?”

Sam nodded.

“You’ve met them?”

“Some. Two of them threatened to kill me.”

Alana shook her head. “I’d say you should write a book, if the world wasn’t crumbling around us.”

Sam’s jaw twitched. “It’s crumbling because of me. I freed Lucifer. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

“So the angels should’ve killed you?”

Sam scoffed. “They were never going to. They wanted me to—“ he combed his fingers through his hair. “Fulfill my destiny. They wanted this.” He gestured to the windows.

“Wow. The angels sound like dicks.”

“They really are.”

Alana watched him for a beat. “Power in and of itself isn’t evil. It has the ability to corrupt, but if you still see what you did as wrong, if you want to help set things right, then you’re not evil.”

“I want to set things right. I’m just not sure I can trust myself anymore. Every time I think I’m doing the right thing, I make it worse.”

“I’d say you tried to do the right thing despite being manipulated every step of the way. Quite frankly, I’m impressed you didn’t try to kill the angels.”

“Day’s still young.” Sam said with a smirk.

“Let’s talk about how to set things right,” Alana said. And her smile seemed genuine enough.

This stranger barely knew him, but despite knowing about the darkest sides of him, she trusted him enough to be alone in a room with him. Sam’s chest clenched as a wave of gratefulness washed through him, leaving him shaky. He wiped surreptitiously at his tearing eyes, and suppressed a sniffle. “Okay, um...we have to figure out how to get Lucifer back in his cage.”

##

The grass felt soft beneath Will’s hooves as he flew across the acres of land beside Margot. He’d kept pace with her the last few miles, reveling in how easily the speed came to him now. Something about shifting by choice had made the entire experience far less of a struggle—like he’d unlocked a whole different side to what he could do.

Margot pushed ahead, her sleek dark grey form disappearing between the pine trees lining the open fields. He followed her in, slowing just enough to navigate between the trees as the scent of pine and tree flooded his senses. It was thrilling to run without the panicked feel of being pursued and he felt himself picking up speed just because he could.

Ahead of him, Margot let out a sharp warning bark and came skidding to a halt. Will slowed behind her just in time to see the air shimmer, undulating as with intense heat for a moment. When it stilled again, Beverly Katz was standing in front of them. She saw Margot and gasped and then let out a quiet “what the fuck” when Margot shifted back into human form.

“Sorry, about the nudity,” Margot said by way of greeting. She nodded to Will expectantly.

He hesitated for a moment. Beverly was his friend and had been his colleague, but on the other hand, she’d just appeared out of thin air, so maybe nudity wasn’t as big of a deal in the greater scheme of things. He pawed at the earth with his hoof, trying to steady himself enough to shift back. It didn’t come quite as easily, the transformation coming in short bursts—bones shortening, the antlers sticking as they slid back inside of him. He tried to ignore Beverly’s muttered curses, though she now sounded more fascinated than terrified.

Still breathing heavily, Will rolled his shoulders back as the last of his fur and feathers retracted. He forced as much of a smile as he could manage and waved weakly to Beverly. “Hi.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Beverly said.

#

Footsteps sounded down the hall, pulling Sam out of his Apocalypse-101 lesson with Alana. Margot entered the room with Will and a woman.

“All kinds of surprise guests today. This one appeared out of thin air,” Margot said.

“Beverly?” Alana looked nearly as shocked as the newcomer. “What are you--”

“I’m sorry, it’s been a really long day--” Beverly said, holding up her hands, “morning. Whatever.”

“Need a drink?” Margot asked.  

“Oh god, yes.”

“Never too early for mimosas,” Margot said walking back out of the room.

#

“Okay, so, let me repeat this back to make sure I heard you all correctly,” Beverly said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You turn into a feathered deer,” she pointed at Will; “you’re a werewolf,” she pointed at Margot, and then to Sam, “and you’ve got demon blood.”

“That’s the short version,” Alana said. “Want to tell us how you learned to teleport?”

“I didn’t,” Beverly downed the rest of her mimosa. “I was at Hannibal’s—“

Will nearly jumped out of his seat. “Hannibal’s—was he there?”

“No. But…” Beverly shook her head. “You were right, Will. He is the Ripper. I found freezers full of—“ she cut herself off and then kept going. “Cuts of his victims. I was going to take pictures, and then Bella Crawford appears out of nowhere.”

“Kind of like you did?” Margot asked.

Beverly nodded absently. “And she says Hannibal’s coming and I need to leave.” She looked up at Sam. “She said to tell you Michael has found his vessel.”

Sam felt the blood drain from his face. “Michael. Did she—did she say who Michael’s vessel was?”

Beverly shook her head. “Sorry. That’s all she said, and then I was out there in the field staring at a wolf and a deer who both turned into people—one of whom is my friend.”

“I’m sorry—I have to make a call,” Sam said, grabbing for his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Will asked, watching him with concern.

Sam swallowed. “Michael’s after Dean for the same reason Lucifer is after me.” Sam shoved aside his last bit of hesitation and made the call. He got Dean’s voicemail, but after the beep, couldn’t find the words. He pressed ‘end call’ instead, pushing the top edge of the phone against his head in frustration.

“I don’t think she meant Dean,” Will said from the door.

Sam turned to him, brow furrowing. “Why not?”

“From what I remember you telling me, angels can teleport other people, right?”

“Yeah…” Sam nodded, as it dawned on him what Will was getting at. “You think Michael possessed Bella Crawford.”

“It fits.”

“Then Bella’s in danger. She won’t be able to hold Michael for long.”

“So we have to get things moving.” Will glanced down at Sam’s hand. “You have Famine’s ring, we still need the other three.”

“Dean has War’s,” Sam said, “And Bobby said he had a lead on Pestilence, so--”

“We need Death’s.” Will let out an exasperated huff. “Easy, right?”

“Want to fill the rest of us in?” Margot said, entering the library.

#

“Angels can just possess people?” Beverly asked.

Sam nodded. “The only difference between angelic possession and demonic possession is that angels ask first.” He took a bite of his salad. “That and, angels are more likely to cause the vessel—the person they’re possessing—to explode.”

“Good to know.” Alana frowned. “We have to help Bella.”

“Why would she have agreed in the first place?” Margot asked.

“Bella’s got stage four lung cancer,” Beverly said. “Maybe Michael offered to heal her.”

“Very likely,” Sam said. “But she has to survive first if he’s going to heal her.”

“We need a plan,” Will said, nodding to himself. “Any chance we can come up with one that Lucifer won’t see coming?”

“Maybe, but only until he gets close to us,” Sam said. “Angels can read minds.”

“Well, then we’ve gotta think of something and forget about it,” Beverly said. “I know some  drugs that could help with that.”

Sam stared at her, eyebrow cocked.

“I work in a crime lab. We know all kinds of things,” Beverly said, and gave him a wink.

#

“That’s not gonna work either,” Will said, finishing the last of the beer Margot had given him.

“I don’t think we have any other ideas.” Sam sighed, scratching absently behind Winston’s ears. Winston had taken a liking to him, resting his head on Sam’s thigh. Three other dogs were curled up around Will, and the warmth of all of them was calming Sam a lot. Which was good, because he had every reason to feel distinctly uncalm, right about now.

"I'm telling you," Beverly said, setting her empty bottle on the step by her feet. "We need to come up with a plan, but make it so nobody knows all the pieces, otherwise these guys'll be able to read our minds and stop us before we execute it, right?"

Sam looked out at the field, and the sky behind it, the last rays of the setting sun turning the sky burnt orange. It looked a little too much like fire for his liking. "It's a good idea, but we already know too much. We know about the rings, and if we can get all four of them together then that'll be on our minds, regardless of how we split up the tasks."

"Is there a way to keep them out of our heads?"

"Angels?" Sam sighed. "It's not easy. I have something to keep Lucifer from finding me, but if we're going to take him down, then nothing'll stop him from getting in my head."

"Let's sleep on it," Alana said, nudging Margot's shoulder. "World'll still be ending in the morning, right?"

Will laughed dryly. "That's the spirit." But he stood up and stretched, and held his hand down to Sam. "Shall we?"

Sam smiled at him and pushed himself to his feet, grabbing Will's hand as he stood. "Good night," he said, giving a wave to the women. He paused for a moment, considering the three of them. Alana and Beverly knew Will, but none of the three had known Sam prior to today. They knew what he was capable of, at least some of it, and they knew what Will could do. But they'd still agreed to help—even to help stop the apocalypse. Sam felt a pulse of gratitude at their generosity and bravery. "Thank you, for everything," he said, nodding to all of them, ending with Margot.

Margot held up her wine glass in a toast. "Here's to another weird day, tomorrow."

##

Will tossed and turned, trying to get his brain to unclench, but it was impossible, there was too much happening—too much at stake. He tried again to focus on Sam's breathing—Sam who had even more personally at stake than anyone else here. He'd told him once that sleeping was always a gamble, because he could have visions or dreams of what he'd done. He led an ugly life, and his dreams were even uglier. But they both needed to rest. No use trying to stop the apocalypse without fully rested minds.

He started on the trick Beverly had told him about a year ago when his insomnia had been at its worst. Tighten the toes, loosen the toes, tighten the calves, loosen the calves, and so on and so on, up the whole body until he reached the crown of his head. He made it all the way to his shoulders before sleep finally came, seeping into his brain and overriding his consciousness—spilled ink soaking into dry fibrous paper.

"Important day tomorrow," a voice said. Hannibal's voice and Lucifer's beneath it. Will whipped around but didn't see him anywhere, couldn't see anything, just empty blackness no matter where he looked. "It's likely to be your last."

"We're ready," Will said, defying both the voice in his dreams and his own self-doubt, beating like a heavy drum in time with his heartbeat.

"You're not," Hannibal said, and this time the voice sounded far less like him and more like the angel wearing him. "How can you be?"

A speck of light glowed in front of Will—a candle flame growing brighter and larger as he watched. A fireball, held in Hannibal's palm. It illuminated his face from below, giving his prominent bones a skull-like appearance. "Sam has a plan."

"Ah yes, Sam." Lucifer smiled thinly. "My true vessel." He tossed the fireball up, like one would throw a ball, and it melted into the air around them, illuminating everything with a soft yellow light. "Don't get me wrong, Hannibal is special too." He gestured down at his body. "He devoured his own soul, did you know that?"

Will shook his head.

"He was born with one, like all humans, but even as a child, he knew he had no use for one. So he expelled it, cut it into tiny pieces and consumed it. You'd think that would make him wholly compliant as a vessel, but there's a lot of fight in him. He doesn't like anyone else pulling the strings." Lucifer's smirk curved wider than Hannibal himself would ever allow. "But then, you know that better than anyone, don't you Will?"

As Lucifer took a step forward, Will took a reflexive step back.

"But tomorrow, when you and Sam come to stop me—the moment Sam says 'yes,' and lets me in, which he will, Hannibal will be free. And then we'll both have what we want."

"Sam will never say yes to you," Will said, and that much he believed wholeheartedly.

Lucifer smiled, and there was something pitying in it. He brought his hands over his face and said, "Destiny is greater than the both of you. Far, far greater." When he lowered his hands again, Sam's face was staring back at Will. "And so am I."

Will woke with a heaving gasp, heart thundering in his chest. Sam was trembling beside him. They turned to each other, and wordlessly understood that they’d both dreamed of Lucifer.

Sam slipped his arm beneath Will’s waist and pulled him in close, burying his face in Will’s hair. His tears burned hot as they trickled down his cheeks, and landed on Will’s head, mingling with his sweat.

With only a moment of hesitation, Will began to trace his fingertips lightly up and down the broad expanse of Sam’s back. He didn’t say a word—what could he say that would help? There were no words potent enough to chase away the pit of dread left behind by that dream, by that voice. But this he could do. He could draw Sam back to the here and now, and remind him with a touch that there was something worth fighting for.

Time passed in frozen seconds and sprints of minutes, as Will’s thoughts roiled, and Sam settled beside him. He could only imagine the horrors going through Sam’s mind.

Hours later, with Sam’s breathing even again, Will woke with a voice in his mind. Not Lucifer’s, though it had a similar cadence and an identical frequency.

Moving slowly, Will extracted himself gently from Sam’s hold, sat up and listened.

“Time to go,” the voice said. And there was something about it—compelling and true. A voice of command that he couldn’t have argued with, even if he’d wanted to.

So Will stood, and followed the voice down the long winding stairs, down the hallway and into Margot’s library.

Bella Crawford was there, wearing a tailored blue suit. She turned and greeted Will with a smile that wasn’t her own.

“Michael,” Will said.

“Hello, Will.”

“I want to talk to Bella.”

“She’s here, and she’s safe.”

“Then let me talk to her.”

“Later. We have more pressing things to attend to.” Michael walked to Will, and opened her hand. Inside were two rings. They gave off an energy—insidious and potent—that Will knew immediately what they were. He took a step back.

“War and Pestilence. Sam has one too, doesn’t he?”

Will nodded.

“Then we’re only missing one.” She brought her hand up to his cheek. “And you’re going to fetch it for us.”

The world tunneled around Will, and he felt himself fall, not down but through space, pulled inconceivably fast. When he could see again, he was slumped against the wall of a building, in a city he didn’t recognize.

##

Sam woke with a clouded, molasses-heavy mind—he recognized it immediately as the touch of an angel. But not Lucifer’s icy cold. This was someone else. Far too strong to be Castiel. He reached instinctively for Will, but found the other side of the bed empty. Sobering clarity hit him like a shock of cold water, and he pushed himself out of bed and headed downstairs, drawn to the library.

A woman was waiting there for him—she stood with the inhuman kind of stillness only angels had.

“Michael,” Sam said.

“The other Winchester,” Michael said, smiling—a show of teeth.

“Where’s Will?” Sam asked.

“Running an errand.”

Sam clenched and unclenched his fist. “That you sent him on?”

Michael looked down at Sam’s hand, at Famine’s ring. “Your plan will fail if you don’t have all four rings.”

“You sent Will to face a Horseman. By himself?” Sam’s heart started to pound, faster and faster.

“Death is more...reasonable than his brethren. He has no need for violence. Everyone comes to him eventually.” Michael walked closer to Sam, stopped less than two feet away. “And Will’s been courting him his entire life.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about your friend.” Michael gestured behind her at the long dark oak table. Jugs full of blood appeared on them—five of them. And though they were sealed, Sam could smell what was inside. His body ached with a bone-deep need and his veins went rigid, sticking out against his skin, like his whole circulatory system knew what was in reach. “Let’s talk about you,” she said. “And your role in all of this.”

Sam’s mouth went dry. “I can’t.”

Michael scoffed. “Spare me your protests. If you were alone in here, you’d be halfway through the first gallon by now.”

“No, I—I don’t want—“

“Of course you do. You were bred and cultivated to want it. A custom-built abomination. All so my brother could exploit the little loophole our Father left behind.”

“A loophole?”

“Angels must all take human vessels while here on Earth, but because of Lucifer’s great sin—the greatest treason committed against our Father—this ability has been denied him. But my brother is clever. He always was. He can’t take a human vessel. No ordinary human can hold him. But if the vessel is defiled, if it’s made inhuman enough, it can sustain him, for a time. And you’re the most inhuman of them all. Aren’t you, Sam?”

Sam nodded, swallowing down the bitterness at the back of his throat. “Maybe. But I’m not going to make myself even easier for him to take over.”

Michael laughed, a sharp, cutting sound. “This isn’t a contest of wills, Sam. You’ve already lost that battle. This is a question of how long you want to survive while he’s inside you.” She gestured at the gallon jugs again. “Drink up, or you’ll last a matter of seconds.”

##

Disoriented and with his heart thudding in his temples, Will walked to the corner and peered onto the street. Lots of pedestrians—but too few for New York. He scanned the skyline and the nearby street signs. “Chicago, I’m in Chicago,” he said out loud, too shocked to care if passersby thought he was out of his mind.

He walked down the block, found himself picking up his pace, like his feet knew where he was going, even though he himself hadn’t the faintest clue. It was disconcerting but inevitable, not unlike much of the rest of his life. He crossed a street, and another and that’s when he realized everyone else around him had stopped moving. They hadn’t stopped walking—they were all completely still, frozen in time, many in half-step, one foot lodged in the air. Even a pigeon had stopped, mid-flight, wings spread, only a few inches from Will’s head.

Now distinctly uneasy again, Will swallowed down his fear and looked to his right, at the door he’d stopped in front of. A pizza place, with one patron inside. An old man, who looked up and beckoned him to come in. Will opened the door and entered.

The old man was tall and thin with a curved nose and wispy black hair. There was nothing physically intimidating about him, but Will had never felt so small. The door jamb to the pizza store was like the edge of a canyon holding a black hole, that could just as easily swallow him up as scatter Will’s atoms without ever knowing he was there. He was an insect. A microbe.

“Come join me, Will,” Death said. “The pizza’s delicious.”

The chair leg squeaked against the linoleum as Will pulled it out, shockingly loud in the otherwise silent pizzeria. He sat and slid closer to the table, there was a plate and napkin set out for him.  

Death gestured to the pan of pizza and waited for Will to help himself to a slice.

Will took a bite, since that seemed like the only polite thing to do. “This really is good,” Will admitted.

Death nodded. “From your perspective, this meeting is long overdue, isn’t it?”

“It is?”

“You’ve been following me your entire life.”

“So you kindly stopped for me?”

Death gave him a look that made Will’s heart sink to his toes, but then he smiled, ever so slightly. “That I did. You’re interested in stopping Lucifer, I’m inclined to give you this.” He raised his hand and slid off his ring, placing it in Will’s palm. “Don’t fail.”

“I intend not to.”

Death let out a humorless huff. “You’ll need more than intent. Make sure everyone plays their part. Including Sam.”

Will swallowed. “Is he going to survive this?”

“I’d say his chances are just as good as yours.”

“That’s not particularly encouraging.” The look Death leveled at him made it clear he was dancing on a line, so Will kept the rest of his more opinionated thoughts to himself. “Happen to know where I could get a cab—“

Death nodded his chin ever so slightly, and the world folded in on itself once again.

“--home?” Will finished, and he found himself, standing once again in Margot’s library, with Sam by his side, looking both deeply upset and relieved.

“The errand boy returns,” Michael said, plucking the ring from Will’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. “Michael said—“

“Death didn’t exactly welcome me like an old friend,” Will admitted, “but he was...agreeable.” He noticed Sam’s eyes drifting, focusing on something behind him, so he followed his gaze and saw what was on the table. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, breathless. “Michael insists I need that much to hold Lucifer.”

“For how long?” Will asked.

Sam swallowed. “Long enough for us to take him down.”

Will stepped between them, like he was shielding Sam from the angel. “No, we’ll find another way.”

“We could attempt another way, but I assure you they will fail.” Michael bowed her head. “I can see the infinite ways this plays out and there is only one where we succeed.”

That took Will’s breath away. He had thought the archangels were evenly matched.

“We would be evenly matched, Will, if we both had our true vessels,” Michael’s lips curved into a sneer. “And if Sam had not been _enhanced_. Lucifer has stacked the odds in his favor.”

“But then giving him Sam is the worst thing we can do!” Will shouted, doubly annoyed because the angel had read his mind. “You just said it yourself.”

Michael gave Will an overly patronizing smile. “He’ll think he’s already won. That’s what we need him to think. By taking him in, Sam gives us the opportunity we need.  
A moment of weakness, which Lucifer is not prone to.”

“How does giving him his true vessel, amped up on gallons of blood, lead to a moment of weakness?” Will asked, feeling more suspicious by the minute. Something was wrong.

“Because inside a vessel, no matter how powerful, he can be killed,” Michael said, matter-of-factly.

Sam’s expression flickered from shock to resigned acceptance so quickly it made Will’s head spin.

“No, no—that means, Sam has to die so Lucifer can die?”

“We only become tangible in this world when we are joined with a vessel, at the moment we connect and start to merge.”

“So, we kill him while he’s still inside Hannibal!” Will shouted.

“If you get the chance, you can certainly try,” Michael said, voice full of false pity.

“We have to get him to come to us,” Sam said. “And I’m the bait.”

“No,” Will said firmly. “We both are. Lucifer will come for you, but Hannibal will come for me. If we distract them both, then we can take them both down.”

“Clever.” Michael walked closer. “It’s a good plan considering how limited your minds are. But don’t worry, I’ve got a better one.”

Sam scoffed, looking more annoyed now than resigned. “Of course you do.”

Michael leveled her cold gaze at him. “Yes. Of course I do.”

“Are you...going to tell us this plan?” Will asked, rapidly losing his patience.

“No. I’m going to make sure you forget everything except what you need to know to reach your destination.”

“What?” Will glared at her. “Why?”

“Because, you simple animal. If he senses I’m coming, he’ll act accordingly. If he knows you have the rings, he’ll be looking for them.”

Sam curled his hand in protectively, shielding Famine’s ring from Michael’s view.

“Don’t worry. I won’t take that from you yet,” Michael said. “You can’t do anything to Lucifer with just one. And you’ve been relying on its magic for too long. If I took it, even if I wiped your memory of it, you’d still know something was missing.” She brought her hands up and touched their foreheads. “You’re going to confront him because of your misplaced arrogance. You think you’re strong enough to defeat him all on your own. Or that you will be, once Sam downs all those gallons of filthy blood. You’re going to leave right now, take one of the cars in that garage and drive here.”

An image flickered in Will’s mind, along with a spot on a map. A national park nearly two hundred miles away. He turned to Sam, the two of them were alone in the library, as they had been for an hour now. They knew where to go and what to do.

“Let’s go,” Sam said, heading for the table. He picked up four of the gallons, two in each hand.

“I’ll get the last one,” Will said, and followed Sam out into the hall, towards the door that led to the garage.

##

“You change your mind?” Sam asked. He’d opened the locked car easily, overriding its alarm, and it was up and running. “Sorry, you know I’d drive if I could.”

“No, it’s not that—I know I’m the designated driver,” Will said. “It’s just—this feels wrong.”

“Of course it does. Stealing always feels wrong. I’d tell you we could bring this back after, but I don’t know how it’s gonna play out.” Sam sounded tired, and angry. And his eyes kept flicking to the back seats, where they’d lined the jugs up along the floor. He’d have to drink them along the way. “The car is kind of the least of our worries, you know?”

“Easier for you to say,” Margot said, from behind them.

Will turned around in shock. “Margot, we uh—“

“You’re about to steal my car.” Margot, Sam noted, was half-dressed, still buttoning up a nightshirt, and her bare feet were covered in dirt. She’d been out, likely in wolf form.

“We just need to borrow one,” Sam started. “We have to go, now, to—“

“To go do something stupid and get yourselves killed.”

“That’s an outcome we’re trying to avoid,” Will said.

“You’re going to face Lucifer, right? With what—that ring?”

“And something else,” Sam said.

Margot looked passed him, glancing at the jugs. “Is that blood? What’d you do, raid the abattoirs?”

It took Sam a second to figure out what she was referring to, his brain already too fixated on what he had to do. “It’s not pig’s blood.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “How’d you find that many demons?”

Sam couldn’t answer and shook his head.

“Sorry, Margot, we really have to get moving,” Will said, heading to the driver’s side.

“What? No way you’re taking my car. And no way you’re doing this alone!” Margot took Will by the arm. “I’m coming with you. You can’t talk me out of it. You know what I can do.”

“But—Alana, Beverly—“

“They can both handle themselves. I’ll tell them we had to deal with shapeshifter business.”

Will gave her a look.

“What? That’s not entirely inaccurate, is it?”

“Well, no, but—“

“Get in the back, both of you.”

#

If he’d had a choice, he would have preferred to do this in complete solitude, to not let any of them see. Will graciously turned away and looked out the window, hand still resting softly on Sam’s thigh. It was meant to be reassuring, but Sam couldn’t accept it as such, despite the intent. With three more gallons of poisonous power left to consume, he didn’t want to be touched at all, least of all by someone who cared for him. Will’s fingers prickled at him through the denim, reminders of what he could have if he wasn’t such a—

But they were only a few hours from their destination, and Sam’s chance at isolated shame and feigned dignity had come and gone. Everyone in this car knew what he was, and accepted him anyway, and he was so damn tired of hating himself. He brought the third gallon jug up to his lips and swallowed deep.

#

“We’re about an hour away,” Margot said, as she pulled into the gas station. “I need a coffee. Anybody else need a pit stop, now’s your last chance.”

Sam heard her voice, but couldn’t quite focus on it fast enough to comprehend the words. “Coffee,” he repeated.

“Want one?” Will asked, smiling at him.

Sam shook his head. He had another half gallon left to go. And he’d already gone way past intoxicated bliss into agony and back again, too many times to count. His skin felt numb, insulated from the outside like a coat of wax on a fingertip. But on the inside he was burning; his body was too small to hold the force inside of him. If he let his mind drift, he could feel and hear and see his own agitated atoms, see them expanding and colliding, trying to fill more space than they were allowed.

There was lightning in his veins, prickling up his arms and into his brain. He could hear himself breathing in gasps, saw how Will had tensed besides him. He tried to shrink further in on himself, give Will more room but moving made Sam even more aware of his subcomponents so he stayed still, eyes scanning the air until they found a dust mote, glimmering in the soft yellow of the rising sun. He tracked the speck, and saw its past —dust—skin—dog fur—Winston. “Winston’s been in this car,” he said.

Will’s mouth formed a surprised little o. “He has?” His brow furrowed and he struggled to hide his concern, but Sam could see his atoms too—could see the whole of him—the parts he kept hidden and the parts he showed, and all of them were beautiful—an iridescent swirling miasma of light and dark.

Sam reached his hand out towards Will, touched him on the cheek, watched Will’s eyelids flutter, watched the atoms bounce and shimmer with each tiny movement. He felt himself drawn inexorably towards Will and brought their lips together, gently, feeling the way they intermingled—he breathed Will in—the scent of him—felt his light infuse his own demon-tainted soul and imagined those atoms changing the shape of his own. If Will was there after all this was over, he’d find his way back. He could come up for air again. But for now, he had to hold his breath and go all the way under.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes…” Margot said as she got back in the driver’s seat.

Will blushed, the heat flickering in the air around his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and he looked even more beautiful, Sam thought. But the moment had passed, and as Margot started the car, the countdown clock in his mind started with it. An hour left. An hour until Lucifer. They had a chance to stop him and save the world.

Sam reached down for the last half gallon. He paused after unscrewing the lid, staring at the blood. He could see its subcomponents, too—the plasma, the red and white cells and the flickers of power that danced between them—the bits of corrupted soul. When he looked at himself he could see his own soul shining beneath his skin, but it had gotten dimmer.

Will put his hand on Sam’s thigh, and Will’s light was blindingly bright. But as he touched Sam, his own light grew stronger. “When we make it through this,” Will said. “I want to go back to the cabin. I want to take all the dogs back to our home. I want to go to sleep next to you, and wake up next to you in the morning.”

Sam tried to hold back his tears, because he wanted that too, more than anything. But it didn’t feel real. The jug in his hand felt real. The weight of what was inside, the building pressure in his veins, the double-vision of the physical world and the layers in-between. He was ready to sacrifice himself, if that meant saving the world. He’d been ready. But the selfish part of him still wanted a happy ending. Even if he didn’t deserve one. “Me too,” he said, voice quiet and shaky.

Then he brought the jug to his lips and drank.

 

#

The sky was a pale blue by the time they got to the nature reserve. The air was cold and crisp, and the leaves crunched beneath their feet as they left the car and started heading uphill.

When they got about halfway up, Sam felt Lucifer. He could feel him, the air itself colder and somehow more solid with every step. He stopped, closed his eyes for a beat, working his nerve up again. “He’s here. He knows we’re here.”

“We figured as much, didn’t we?” Margot asked. Her voice was rock-steady, but her steely expression wavered. She was nervous, too. They all were.

The world around them flickered, and they were at the top of the hill. A cliff overlooking the miles of forest below.

“You know they call this the Devil’s Needle,” Lucifer said, back towards them. “Because of its curved peak. Like I crochet or something.” He spun on his heel casually and smiled. “Sam. It’s good to see you again. And Will—my, my Hannibal has told me a lot about you.” He turned to Margot. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the muscle,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

Lucifer laughed. “Now that I’d like to see.”

“Wait.”

A branch snapped behind them, and Sam looked over his shoulder. There were demons walking towards them; six of them in total came to stand in a half circle behind them, blocking their escape.

Lucifer flicked his eyes back to Sam. “You didn’t come here to look at the foliage, did you?”

Keeping his eyes on Lucifer, Sam took hold of all six demons, latching his power onto their souls, and with an ease that should have scared him, but didn’t, extinguished them. He felt, rather than saw, their eyes and mouths light up gold, their souls burn, and their bodies drop as one, slumping boneless to the ground.

Next to him, Will’s breath hitched. Sam caught the way his eyes flicked to him, steeled himself for a look of horror or fear. But all he saw in Will was awe tinged with concern.

“Been drinking your Ovaltine, have you?” Lucifer said, lips curling.

Sam nodded. “I’m here to say yes.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Just like that. No ulterior motive.”

“Of course there’s an ulterior motive,” Will said. “Sam’s not a fool.”

“Yet you play me for one.” Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “Hannibal warned me that you were more dangerous than you seemed. The mongoose beneath the porch, isn’t that right?”

Will kept his mouth shut.

“Well, surely you have some kind of attack plan, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Lucifer smiled at Margot. “You have no idea what’s going on, you’re just here for the meat, I respect that.” He turned back to Will. “And you—you keep hoping desperately that Sam has some plan he hasn’t told you about, because you know the one you have is going to fail. Oooh.” He pursed his lips. “How fatalistic of you.”

“I trust Sam,” Will said. “And we’re not going to let him take you on alone.”

“I’m curious, what do you two think you’re going to accomplish exactly?” Lucifer said. “Other than being fodder, I mean.”

“They’re not fodder,” Sam said, anxiety growing as the massive well of power in him swirled, aching to be freed. Something about the proximity to Lucifer made his whole body go into fight-or-flight mode. But his blood knew that fight was the only option left, and it was ready.

“Right, because of your gifts? The ones I gave you?” Lucifer’s smirk curved as he narrowed his eyes. “I’m no demon, Sam. Your power will never work on me.” He glanced down at Sam’s hand. “And you’ve got one of the keys to my cage. Well done.”

Something squirmed in the back of Sam’s mind—a fraction of a memory. He didn’t only have the one ring. Somebody else—but a sharp pain cut through his line of thought and he remembered what he’d come here to do. He had to give Will and Margot an opening. When Lucifer was distracted, when he was entered Sam, then they’d take him down and then—

"The ring is more than just a key," Will said. "It gives Sam more control."

Lucifer scoffed and turned his attention back to Sam. "You think that’s what this is about? Control? Your will? Sam, you're the moth, I’m the _sun_. You can’t help but fly towards me, and your will is entirely irrelevant."

“I’m saying yes, because it’s the only way to stop you.”

“Pardon?” Lucifer laughed. “You do remember the part about you being my true vessel, and why I want you.”

“I remember. You said you wouldn’t lie to me and you wouldn’t trick me. That you’d give me anything. And what I want is for you to stop slaughtering innocent people. You want to take on the other angels? Fine. But leave humanity out of it.”

“Humanity is collateral damage, Sam.”

“Not to me.”

Lucifer took in a deep breath, looking annoyed, and exhaled. “Fine. You say yes, and we’ll go after the angels.”

“Okay then,” Sam swallowed. He felt Will watching him, reached out for him mentally and felt his fear, his hope, his love. Sam's heart pounded in his chest and he steeled himself. They were going to make it through this. They had to take Lucifer down, and this was the only way. He looked Lucifer in the eyes and said, “Yes.”

Lucifer's smile changed then into something very different and far scarier. Satisfaction. He leaned back, and light streamed from Hannibal's body, shooting out of his eyes and mouth. The light rushed towards Sam, a river coursing from Hannibal into him. Sam felt Lucifer collide with him, felt his cells fill with frost. His eyes were blinded by Lucifer's brilliance, but his amplified senses kept sending him information on everything else around him—Margot and Will shed their human forms, and rushed forward on all fours, lunging at Hannibal.

Without fanfare, without light or sound, or little more than a soft rippling in the air, Michael appeared behind Hannibal, and grabbed him by the shoulders. Lucifer's light stopped flowing into Sam, stuck, mid-transition, pinned in place by Michael. He struggled, and screamed and without a human body, his voice was omnipresent and cacophonous—broken bells and shattering glass. Sam brought his hands up to cover his ears and stumbled backwards, coughing—expelling the part of Lucifer that had started to enter him. It left his insides feeling cold and shaken, but they were his alone again.

Michael nodded towards Sam and something metallic appeared in front of him, hovering in the air, less than a foot away from his face. For a moment Sam stared at them, confounded, but then a dam in the back of his mind broke and the memories came rushing back. The other three Horsemen's rings: War, Pestilence and Death. The rings were interconnected with an open gap for the fourth. Sam felt the ring on his hand respond and it was torn off of him, by an impossibly strong magnetic pull. Famine's ring snapped into place with the other three and the completed metal circle fell to the ground.

 _The four rings are a key. With the key, we can open the gate to Lucifer's cage._ Sam's thoughts were still muddled, but the words he needed came to him clearly, "Beh voh tah mo en, tah beh geh sah." The ground in front of him began to rumble. "Bah bah loh en!" he finished. The rings glowed and the ground beneath them crumbled away.

Lucifer struggled more, a writhing serpent of light stuck midway leaving Hannibal, the front end of him hovering above the now-open gate. He reared away from it, out of the range of its pull. Something silver and sharp manifested in Hannibal's hand and he brought it up towards Michael, but she saw, shoved her shoulder against the broad part of the blade and sent it flying. Lucifer's light collapsed in on itself and he sunk back inside of Hannibal. Will and Margot grabbed him by the legs, Will pinning him with his antlers, Margot using her jaws. They began to drag him forward, towards the gate. But Lucifer fought back, and with a blast of power and sent them both flying. They landed on opposite sides of the gate, scrambling to get back to their feet.

Michael lost her grip on Lucifer, but only for a moment. She wrapped one arm around his waist, the other around his neck and unfolded her wings, spanning them out wide—they came ablaze with golden fire, arcing up until they blocked out the trees and everything around them.

Sam, momentarily blinded by her brilliance, came to his senses, grabbed the silver sword from the ground and leapt over the gate, landing right next to Lucifer. Sam could feel Lucifer straining to get free, could see that he was starting to break loose from Michael’s hold, so Sam grabbed onto Lucifer with his power—the same way he’d hold a demon, only a thousand times harder, then he swung the sword down, plunging its tapered tip deep into Hannibal’s chest. The archangel’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropped open and he gasped as pure light streamed out of him, exploding up into the sky, bright enough to make even Michael’s wings dim in comparison.

Shielding his eyes, Sam clung to the sword, kept pushing it in with all his might as though if he let go, all his effort would be undone. But then the light went out, like a switch had been flipped. Sam stepped aside and Hannibal fell forward, hanging over the edge of the gate. Will and Margot raced forward and kicked out with their forelegs, sending Hannibal hurtling down into the gaping pit.

The gate closed with an audible snap and the air went still. Will and Margot both began to shift back into their human forms. Michael's wings had vanished, and she stood looking at the patch of ground with an inscrutable expression.

"Thank you," Sam said, looking at all three of them.

Will gave him a smile. "I think we should be thanking you."

Michael's expression turned dour. "This is not how it was prophesied."

"But it's over," Sam said. The adrenaline was starting to leave his system and his limbs felt jittery and weak. But it was over. It was finally over.

With a huff, Michael nodded, begrudgingly. Then she opened her mouth, light poured from out and the sky became a supernova.

When the light finally faded, Bella was on the ground, looking up at the three of them. "Will?" She pushed herself to her feet. "Why are you naked?"

Will let out a surprised laugh, full of relief and Sam went to help her up, but with his first two steps, everything went off kilter. The world tumbled up towards him. His legs gave out, his heart stuttered to a halt and took everything else with it.

##

Will was so focused on Sam, he barely noticed when Margot draped a blanket over his shoulders. Sam was unconscious—alive and breathing after CPR, but his breaths were too shallow and his heartbeat erratic.

“What happened to him?” Alana asked, suddenly there, along with Beverly and Jack. Will tore his gaze away from Sam and saw Jack pulling Bella into a tight hug. Bella was smiling, ear to ear.

“I’m not sure,” Will said. “Maybe it’s because he lost the ring, or whatever Lucifer did.”

“We’ll get him to a hospital. Might not be able to help him completely, but it’s a start.”

Will nodded.

“We’ll get a helicopter,” she said. “With a stretcher.”

#

Alana got in the medical helicopter with Will and Sam. She answered the pilot’s questions and they took off, headed towards the nearest city hospital.

They sat in silence for a bit, before she said, “So, Hannibal’s dead.”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly?” She raised an eyebrow, “Margot said—“

“I’m not exactly an expert in Hell portals,” Will said. “But he was still alive when we threw him in.”

“Can he get out?”

“My understanding is, not easily.” Will nodded to himself. He wanted to feel more relieved, the threat of Hannibal—if not eliminated at least severely reduced for the time being—but all he could think about was Sam’s sallow skin and the ugly truth the heart monitor showed him.

#

“Sir, I assure you, we’ve done all we can for now.”

Will heard the words, but couldn’t quite get himself to respond. His gaze was still glued to Sam in the hospital bed—the tubes running down his throat and into his hand. He’d never seen such a large man look so small.

“Let him rest, and get some rest yourself.”

Will turned to stare at the nurse, his brain recognizing that maybe if he looked at her, her words would make more sense. “We’ll run some more tests in the morning, but for now all we can do is keep him comfortable.”

Will blinked at her, sifting through the barrage of looping, jumbled memories from the last few hours. The battle, Sam collapsing, the admitting nurse grilling him on what illegal substance Sam had been taking, _”Nothing you’ve ever heard of,”_ the doctor’s face as she rattled off all of Sam’s failing organs one by one, _”Advanced renal failure, his heart has started to calcify, and his lungs are charred, some symptoms are almost like radiation poisoning, except there’s no trace of any. Where did you say he was attacked?”_

“I’m sorry…” Will met her eyes. “Yes, I’d like to stay here. Do you have a blanket?”

“In the closet,” she said, with a pitying smile. Will hated pity, normally, but now he’d take all the pity in the world, if somehow it’d help Sam get better.

He walked to the closet in the far corner of the room, pulled out a fleece blanket and moved the guest chair closer to Sam’s head. He angled himself to face him, and tried to get comfortable in a position where he could rest his hand on Sam’s arm, just in case he woke up after Will fell asleep.

Will closed his eyes, tried to let himself drift to sleep, but it was impossible, his brain was churning, still spitting back everything that’d happened, and all the quiet was just making him angrier. He wanted to punch something, wanted to scream. This was after. They’d made it here, but he had no intention of being here alone.

He shoved the chair back with his legs, went down on his knees and clasped his hands together, tamping down his rage until he could speak without shouting.

“Please, help him,” Will prayed. He hadn’t prayed since he was a boy, and he felt even less confident now that someone would answer, even after everything he’d seen. “He gave everything to save this world, and you can’t—you can’t just let him die.” An angry tear slipped out on the last word, and he watched it drip off his chin and land on the back of his hand.

“You _owe_ him. You ungrateful bastards,” Will growled. “Is this what you do? Is this your divinity? Use us to play out your wars and then let us rot when it’s all over?” Will sunk back on his heels, exhausted, and wrapped his fingers around Sam’s, which had gone stiffer and even colder. “He deserves better.”

“You’re right, he really does,” said a voice from behind him.

Will whipped his head towards the voice and found a man in doctor’s scrubs looking down at him. Not a man, considering he’d just appeared out of nowhere. And considering his smell. He had the same scent of incense, ozone and rain that Michael had. The angel had mid-length blond hair, a sad half-smile on a face clearly used to smirking, and he was looking right past Will, at Sam, with an earnest expression.  

“You’re right to be worried. Man-made medicine isn’t gonna do squat for Sam,” the angel said, taking a step closer to the bed. “Not after everything he’s been through.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Will asked, blocking him.

The stranger’s smile looked even sadder. “Gabriel, you can call me Gabriel.”

Will scoffed. “Another angel?”

“Another _arch_ angel,” Gabriel corrected, moving past Will, and crouching down next to Sam. “We go back a ways. And I messed with Sam too, in my own way.” He pushed Sam’s limp hair away from his face. “We had our fun though, didn’t we kiddo? Or, well, I had fun.”

Will was about to interject, but Gabriel continued, and his expression went deadly serious. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. They were always going to use Sam as a pawn, just like they used me. And Lucifer, he—he was my brother, but—“ Gabriel coughed, like he was clearing his throat, an oddly human gesture for a being that could wipe out a city with a thought. “He would’ve destroyed it all. Everything. So, I guess what I’m saying is, I do owe you one.” He pushed back his sleeve and pulled a small knife out of thin air, slicing it into his palm. “We all do.” A gleaming light poured out of the wound, ran liquid into the palm of his hand, which he cupped until he was holding a small well of light. Then he brought his hand towards Sam’s mouth.

“Wait!” Will bolted forwards, grabbed hold of the angel’s wrist and tried futilely to move it away. But it was like pushing against an iron girder. There was no give, Gabriel didn’t move in the slightest. But he did look at Will, curiously. “Sam’s going to die, you get that right?”

Will nodded. “Yeah, but what are you giving him?” The light from Gabriel’s palm was blinding when he looked at it directly and it seemed to pulse from within, swirling like a tiny galaxy was trapped inside of it. As bright as Michael and Lucifer had been.

“A piece of myself,” Gabriel said. “My grace. Nothing can undo what all that demon blood’s done to Sam but this will help him...integrate it. No more withdrawal, no more deteriorating from the inside out.” His mouth curved back into a smirk. “This man shall be healed!”

“That’s great, but how do I know we can trust you?”  
  
“You don’t. But honestly, what other choice have you got?”

“It’s not _my_ choice, that’s the thing.” Will said, and he loosened his grip on Gabriel’s arm but didn’t let go. “It’s Sam’s choice. He’s had so much done to him, by demons, by your kind.” He looked down at Sam’s chest, watching his ventilator-powered breathing. “Can you wake him up long enough to ask him if he wants what you’re offering?”

Gabriel stared at Will for a beat and then blinked once, deliberately. “Yeah.” He closed his palm over the radiance it held, and turned toward Sam, adding, “But not for long.”

With a snap of his fingers, the tube in Sam’s throat disappeared and Sam was gulping in air, eyes open and wide with shock. “Will?” he asked, confused. “Trickster?” He sounded distinctly less than happy to see the angel.

Gabriel gave him a wave with his fingers.

“Did you want another shot at me too?” Sam asked. “Get in line.”

“Nah, this time I’m here to help. Consider it a thank-you.”

Sam looked highly dubious, and opened his mouth but then winced sharply, clearly in pain.

“Sam?” Will asked, alarmed.

“We don’t have a lot of time, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Sam said.

“Fine. But I owe you a favor anyway, and I hate owing anyone anything. So, let me cut to the chase—you’re dying. Option one: I give you some of this,” he opened his hand, showing Sam a glimpse of the glowing liquid, “you get to stay alive, your body heals. Assuming you stay clean, you won’t have any other nasty withdrawal symptoms.”

“What’s option two?” Sam rasped.

“I do nothing, and your boyfriend gets to watch you die.”

Sam looked from Gabriel to Will and reached for his hand.

Will gently squeezed his fingers around Sam’s. “I wanted you to have a choice.”

With a shaking hand, Sam brought Will’s hand up to his lip and kissed his knuckles. He let go of Will, looked back up at Gabriel and asked, “No catch?”

“No catch,” Gabriel said, bringing his glowing hand towards Sam. “Well—I mean I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen to your powers. You might have none, you might have something entirely new. There’s never been anyone quite like you, Sam.” He sounded genuinely impressed. He lifted his hand further, brought it to Sam’s mouth.

Sam leaned back and the light flowed inside of him. For a moment, his veins glowed, spiderwebs of light dancing beneath his skin. Then he fell back against the pillow, eyes closed, breathing heavy and deep.

“What happened?” Will asked, his voice catching in his throat.

“There’s a cellular battle between Heaven and Hell going on in his bloodstream,” Gabriel said, gaze distant like he was watching just such a battle. Then he turned to Will, adding, “He’s sleeping, give him a minute.”

Will took Sam’s hand again, and his skin felt warm to the touch. Even the color in his cheeks had returned. He was still asleep, but he looked healthy, lungs moving up and down of their own volition, heartbeat strong and steady.

“Sam’s lucky to have you. Take good care of him, will ya?” Gabriel said, with a nod, and then he vanished.

Sam slept for another ten minutes, and then he woke, smiled at Will and brought him down into a kiss.

#

“Getting cold,” Will said, rubbing his hands together. Winston was curled up his feet, the other dogs were close by, some of them warier of the fire pit than others. Will felt sleepy after the dinner they’d had, or he would be if he wasn’t so cold. But it was too nice a night to not sit outside for a bit.

“Sun’s nearly down.” Sam grabbed the box of matches by his feet and shook it. “Not many left.” He handed the box to Will.

Will slid the box open. “Two left.” He took out one of the long matches and lit it, and brought it towards the kindling. But as he got closer, a gust of wind blew out the flame.

“One more,” Sam said, handing Will the last match. Will struck the match, shielded it again, cupping the small flame with his hand while he carefully brought it towards the kindling again. Another gust of wind came, a determined tendril of air that blew directly at Will’s hands, extinguishing the flame once more.

Will fell back on his heels, exasperated, but chuckling. He looked at Sam who was chuckling back at him. “Third time’s the charm?” Will asked, climbing back into his seat.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at him. “You sure?”

“Let’s find out,” Will said, nodding at Sam. They were having a wholly different conversation, one that was overdue. “It’s a nice night. Would be a shame to miss it.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Sam said. He leaned forward in his seat, reached out his hand and flicked two fingers towards the kindling. The twigs burst into flame, and the thicker logs above began to smolder and catch, sending the pleasing scent of burning wood into the air.

Will gave Sam a smile. “Like I said, third time’s the charm.” He waited for Sam to settle back in his chair, then reached out his hand, wrapping their fingers together. Sam gave him a smile too—one that lit up his whole face, free of the deeply etched worry lines that he’d shed one by one since felling Lucifer.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Sam asked, leaning back to look up at the stars.

“I don’t know,” Will said, and as he thought about it, a laugh escaped him. “Maybe work on the vegetable garden some more? But you gotta keep Winston away from the tomato plants." Sam nodded, eyes still looking up.

Will looked up too, at the myriad of stars in the sky, and started counting all the bright spots.


End file.
